Free
by bondageluvr
Summary: It had been a year since Ciel turned into a demon. Everything is different now. Rated M for a good reason, Ciel/Sebastian, Yaoi, Demon!Ciel
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: Okay, guys, I haven't written Kuroshitsuji for a while, so forgive me if this is slightly off-key. I just recently got back into the fandom (thanks to the musicals, **_**god **_**Yuya is sexy) so here you go. Please comment and favorite. This story won't be long, I promise. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. I do own the lovin' touchin' squeezin' though. **

It was strange, not feeling the cold of the January evening as he should have been able to. The snowflakes danced around his figure, the slight wind lifting and lowering them in an imperceptible rhythm. Not to him, though, _no_, he could count out the paces of the tiny icicles as they pranced, shaken by nothing but the breeze. His breathing did not disturb their peaceful waltz, as he had none. That was strange, too, he supposed, but he had long ago decided not to give it much thought. _Long ago? _He mused to himself. _Who are you fooling? Nobody. That 'long ago' that you're clutching onto so forcefully happened only a year ago. And look where you are. _Stifling a chuckle, he decided to finally open his other eye, unbothered by the fact that the black patch that had once hidden it, was absent. There was nobody to see him here. What with his different eyes or his regal demeanor, he would still be an uncanny sight to behold as his slight frame stood waist-deep in the frozen waters of the lake. It felt lukewarm, just like the air around it, and he could only stand there, his hands lying flat on the surface. The concentric circles that had spread when he had taken his first steps into the water were long gone and the broken surface was as calm as the ice surrounding it.

"You're late," he murmured into the darkness, seeing what was in front of him perfectly. Turning on the spot and sending shivers down the lake, he glared at the one who had disturbed him. "I told you not to be late, Sebastian."

The figure in front of him stopped short, looking at him blankly. His butler, his faithful pawn and now his eternal curse, stood before him clad in all black, a fluffy white towel slung over his right arm. In his left hand, normally he would have been carrying a candelabra with a couple of lit candles settled into the brass holders. Now, since there was no need for light for either of them to see, it lay flat against his thigh, his arm rigid in his posture. Again, it was strange, seeing him like this. It had been a year but Ciel still couldn't get used to how his butler looked. He was sure nothing had changed about his appearance but as they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and the beholder was finally able to see the reality of his demon's appearance. His human eyes had been weak, superficial in what they had been seeing since that fateful day four years ago. Back then, all he had seen was a devilishly handsome man in a meticulously ironed suit and shined shoes, with a lovely smirk and _oh_, those crimson eyes. The eyes that had consumed him from the very beginning, devouring him, or rather, _promising _to devour him, to someday make Ciel his. Now, though, Ciel saw so much more. That handsome face was in reality even more beautiful, dazzling in its pulchritude. The soft skin was indeed smoother than marble. The demon was perfection embodied. It was ironic, how much like an angel he looked.

"Yes, young master. Forgive me," came the soft answer, which would have made his eyebrow twitch in irritation had he still been human. It was irking how blank, how unfeeling the once passionate words sounded now, how unwilling and lifeless his butler had become. It had not been a gradual process - the next day after Ciel died, he had already been able to feel the change. The cold, the lack of _life… _It was astounding. "I was wondering-,"

"-If I was cold?" Ciel let out a bitter laugh, walking out of the water without as much as a shiver. Droplets of water cascaded down his lower back and legs, shimmering underneath the moonlight. He disregarded the towel that had been held out to him expectantly, opting to pick up the large shirt he had discarded upon his entry to the lake. He would never admit it even under torture - as if something as petty as that would make him suffer now - but the shirt had once belonged to Sebastian. The butler had thrown it away when Grell had spilt soup on it during his brief time as a butler at the Phantomhive mansion, claiming it was un-washable. Meylin had salvaged it from the rubbish and washed it until her knuckles bled, effectively getting rid of the stain. From there, Ciel had overheard her talking to Finny about the shirt and he, not thinking about dignity for a second, had snuck into the servants' quarters and stolen the shirt. Technically, it had belonged to him from the very beginning, seeing as it was part of the Phantomhive fortune. It had also been the only thing he had taken with him from the mansion when they left. To his human nose, it had smelt only of soap and effort but to a demon, he could still distinguish the spicy, musky scent that was Sebastian. It wasn't for comfort, at least not the physical kind, that he still used it. No, it most certainly wasn't.

Sebastian nodded, his eyes blank and lacking their usual brilliance. _Usual, huh? _The last time his eyes had shone had been one year ago. _Exactly _one year ago. Turning sideways as he shrugged on the shirt, Ciel gave him a condescending once-over. Touching the palm of his hand to his chest, the younger demon closed his eyes in concentration and felt the fabric shift beneath his hold. He looked down to see a black pair of slim pants and a warm frock coat the color of coal wrap around his form in place of the shirt. He still felt the softness of the cotton but those around him including himself saw the wonderful illusion his powers were now able to create. The notion of walking the world clad in only a shirt that reached down to his knees thanks to his height had first disturbed him but he had claimed that wasting money on petty things like clothes would no longer be justified. He wondered if what Sebastian was wearing was weaved from imagination as well.

Combing a long-fingered hand through his hair, he felt it lengthen in his grasp. He quite liked the color and the texture that he had had when he had been human but he had often wondered how it would look a bit longer. Wishing for a black ribbon, he felt it knot around a ponytail of fine, slate-colored hair. Ghosting a hand over his eyes, Ciel knew the only thing that he would never be able to hide with even his powers would be the mark as it simmered and throbbed beneath the pale moonlight. Finally, as an afterthought he wished for himself to become a slight taller. Feeling himself shift so that he no longer had to bend his neck so much to look up at his butler's face, Ciel sighed contently, putting a hand, rid of all Phantomhive regalia, into his pocket.

Sebastian watched him shift and change without so much as blinking, the towel still slung around his arm like a drunken old friend, wrinkled and cold. Ciel knew he was envious of his Young Master as he, stuck as a butler, would have to ask for permission to shape-shift. It was almost disconcerting how the younger demon knew Sebastian thought he would not be allowed the luxury. He was far more hearty than that. He knew what it felt like to be stuck in an insignificant, weak little body, unable to escape. But, the demonic butler never asked and so he never contended.

They set off into the woods behind the lake, neither talking nor enjoying the silence. Whips of cold wind hit their stoic faces with forceful blows yet nothing changed in the beautiful serenity of their expressions. One would say they were peaceful. One would, of course, be a fool.

"Sebastian?" Ciel asked cautiously, feeling the air for any emotion. Nothing.

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Call me by my first name from now on. I see that is a growing trend in society nowadays. That is an order." He felt the contract mark glow for a second before fading away. He could have sighed with the drama of the situation - forcing Sebastian to address him like a friend was probably the ultimate cruelty.

"Are you sure… Mr. Ciel?" Sebastian answered formally, bowing his head in mock respect. Ciel stopped in his tracks and turned to his butler:

"Look at me, Sebastian." He watched the beautiful face emerge from behind ebony locks as they fell away under the force of gravity. The pale skin seemed almost iridescent in the moonlight, giving off a pale sheen that felt like staring into the sun. A very cruel, lonely sun it was. The thin mouth was twisted into a firm line, a line of obedience but the worst thing were the eyes… A matte vermilion, dull as dust, tasteless as English wine, looked back at him calmly. Putting a finger underneath the almost doll-like chin, Ciel swallowed.

"Sebastian, are you… are you happy? Don't answer that. I know you aren't." He took one more look at the stoic face of his butler before turning away silently. They stood in the deep blue of the forest, neither saying a word as Ciel raised his head to look heavenwise where he knew, his parent watched on, tsking disapprovingly at the things he had done. For the first time in twelve months, he felt something prickle behind his eyelids. They were not tears, demons could not cry, but a mere memory of his humanity he was sure he would lost soon enough. He realized how easy it had been as a human child - people gave allowances for emotions, they only shook their heads when he let himself cry. Taking a deep breath that already felt foreign in his dead lungs, Ciel averted his eyes from the sky look at the soft snow coating the floor of the forest. It felt as though a stone had settled in between his ribs, robbing him of breath and thought. _I thought I was not to feel this way again… Not to feel at all. _

"Go," he whispered into the night, feeling his butler's form shift behind him curiously. Ah, one emotion. Turning to Sebastian, he saw the red eyes widen a bit as he strode forward and ripped the towel from his grasp. "Leave."

"Young Master?" Sebastian asked hoarsely, his eyes showing _something…_

"I want you to be free. One year. You have served me for one year since _it _happened. I want no more. I want you, as my servant, to leave me," Ciel continued, gauging Sebastian's reactions greedily. This was more than he had received in _months _and he was about to throw it all away. "I am a demon now. Strong. Powerful. I can protect myself so I have no need for a guardian at my side. I want you to live your life… death, whatever it may be, I want you to carry on and just _go_." His elongated claws ripped at Sebastian's butler tailcoat, opening deep gashes in the fine fabric. He tore the seams and threw buttons to the side, leaving his butler exposed in the winter wind. _He is so beautiful_.

Sebastian stood, unmoving, letting little snowflakes settle onto his creamy marble skin. _How is this happening?_

"Go. Leave. Just go," his Young Master whispered, nearly choking on his own words. _He is not ready to let me go. _"Go! _Go! Get out of here, you stupid demon! Get out! Out! I want to be alone! I don't need you! Leave me! Leave! Leave!…"_

The wind shifted and as Ciel looked up from his position on his knees in the snow, his hands grasping the frozen earth, ripping it from where it sat, there was nobody around to see him break.

_You're so stupid. 'If you love something set it free', indeed!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: All right, here is the new chapter. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far, I really appreciate it. This chapter is shorter in word count but a bit more eventful than the first one, so here you go. Un-beta-ed. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own these beautiful men. Poor me.**

"Jaques!"

Ciel turned at the cry that had come from behind him and ducked just in time to hear a bullet whizz over the spot where his head had been just moments before. Nodding to the soldier who had warned him, he set off further down the row of people wielding guns and dead bodies covering the frozen grass. Gritting his teeth, he ran with all his might - his _human _might, of course - to the spot where he had last seen his master. Raising his gun a little higher he shot blindly at a figure looming before him. It fell to the ground with a sickening thud when Ciel approached it. His brown eyes slid over the man's dark uniform and he smiled in satisfaction noting the lines on the lapel and the red-lined hat lying a few feet away from the man. _German. Good. _

If he had been a dog, his ears would have perked up at the sound of someone panting painfully about a mile away. There he was, his long-lost master. Shaking his head dramatically, Ciel set off in a sprint, smelling blood emanating from the spot where his master lay.

It had been interesting, to say the least, serving this man. It was only Ciel's second contract and, of course, he still lacked the complete perfection _he _had had, but hey, he was learning. After a few years of roaming Europe in search of… a _life_?, Ciel had finally understood why _he _had insisted on the importance of contracts - they kept an immortal demon sane, rooting him to the Earth, entertaining him. Boredom was one drawback of eternal life, Ciel thought, and after a little while, had figured out how to appear to people when they called upon a demon. He could hear their screams, dying yells and softly-spoken whispers, hoping for help, for salvation, much as he had had when he… No. That had been another life. A better one, he supposed, but as least… No. Another time, another place.

"_Mon capitaine,_" he said simply, approaching the man lying on the ground, blood oozing from a fresh bullet wound. The man had not been pleasant to deal with but at least, his regiment liked Ciel enough. Ciel had been contracted to the captain for less than a year, right after the Great War had broken out. Silly, Ciel had thought, when he had first heard the news. Human beings were petty, shallow things, leading boring, uneventful lives. Wars brought spice to their short existences. So, Ciel had joined in, tying himself to the first soldier that had summoned him. He turned out to be Francois Lessat, a middle-aged army man. He had not been at death's door when Ciel had been called, nor had he been desperate. He had just wanted someone to run his errands, someone he could use as bait, someone he could trust with secret files, someone that would be able to get messages across the battlefield safely and without hassle. Thus, the contract had been sealed. "You are dying."

"_Oui, tu petit fils de pute_!_" _The captain panted, struggling to maintain his breath. He watched, helpless, as Ciel lowered himself to the ground and onto his knees, sitting casually in front of his master. "What are you doing? Dress my wound, save me, demon!"

He had never bothered with a name for his most faithful servant. Ciel had thought back to the books he had read as a child, though his human memories had been hazy, still were, in fact, and had pulled up the most common name he could have found - Jaques Sombre. That did little to make his master treat him like a human being, he mused, as he watched the dying captain trying to kick him with a flailing leg from where he lay.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he answered calmly, gazing at the man with a satisfied smirk plastered firmly across his features. He was sure he looked quite menacing, a brown-eyed young man of nineteen, covered in blood, an unnaturally wide eerie grin on his face. It was time to end this idiocy, he decided and bowed his head: "This is the end of our journey together."

"W-what?"

"W-what?" Ciel mocked the man as he gazed up into the sky, its blue almost as deep as that of his eyes… As they had been once. "I believe the terms we agreed on are, simply put, completed. '_You will serve me until my dying breath to kill the whole lot of those dirty Deutsch dogs! Their stupid allies as well! All of them!'. _Your dying breath… I have been waiting for it since I put that mark on your chest. It is over now, _mon capitaine._"

Licking the blood away from his full lips, Ciel felt his body shift - his hair growing out longer, the tresses turning black and whipping his face in the wind, his jaw rounding and his eyes becoming their beautiful cerulean blue. Satisfied, he stood up slowly, enjoying the feeling of weight having been lifted off his shoulders. Ripping off the eyepatch that had covered his right eye, he smiled faintly to himself. _Carefree_, he had never been that. Now, before the time came to enter another annoying contract, he could pretend to be untroubled just for a little while. A moment more. Truth be told, his world had ended quite abruptly that fateful night, when he had so foolishly (so _kindly?_) let his demon go. With _his _departure, Ciel's spoilt demonic existence had come to a sudden end: he had had to learn to fend for himself, _dress _himself, do everything he had been used to having been done for him. Of course, that wasn't the real tragedy of his situation. He had come to terms with his feelings far too late. He was paying the price.

_I thought I wasn't supposed to feel such stupid horrible godawful feeli-,_

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A French _officeur_, how quaint," a dark voice chuckled from behind his back and he tensed up, ready to strike if they were to attack. Turning on his heel, he clenched his fists and… his mouth fell open when he saw who was standing before him. A quite normal-looking soldier with a boyish face and freckled skin, kissed by the early summer sun. His pale lips were twisted into… No, what was twisted was a knife. Right through Ciel's heart when he saw who it was. It was unmistakeable - the man had short blond hair and striking green eyes but _oh God _the hand whose finger was settled on the trigger of the gun pointed at Ciel's head held the five-pointed star that Ciel had come to cherish so dearly.

"Sebastian," he whispered, staring at the man clad in German army garb. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, _mein Schatz_. Lieutenant Friedrich Messer. Not particularly glad to make your acquaintance, though," the man answered, his eyes gazing at his opponent teasingly. Ciel took a step back, all the force drowning out of his body. It wasn't Sebastian. At least not the one he knew. _Stupid demon, always the best at everything. Even forgetting me. _Ciel looked him over, raising his hands into the air to prevent the man from shooting. He had learnt long ago that bullets did little to affect his health but that didn't stop them from hurting. Some, like _him_, liked the feeling - something to do with feeling alive, Ciel supposed. Masochistic demons. That didn't sound too far from the truth.

"Forgive me," Ciel said, nodding at him. "I must have been hit over the head by one of _your _men. Where are they, perchance?"

"_Ich weiß nicht_," replied Friedrich, giving the younger man a once-over. Ciel tensed. What if his - no, not his, but that was beside the point, wasn't it? - demon had been contracted to a German? Could he ensure them winning the War? Not that Ciel had much of an interest in human affair but what would any person say should they find out that they had lost to one single being? "Where are your friends, _Schatz_?" His English was accented with a Berlin-borne tint that Ciel had heard so much of in the past few months. _He even learned to speak like them. _Ciel never bothered. He was still British to the bone. Sebastian, on the other hand…

_Completely devoted to his current master. Wait. No. _Cerulean eyes widened in realization as the young man lifted his head and raised an elegant eyebrow much like he had used to in his younger days.

"Sebastian, stop this farce immediately. I know for a fact you cannot enter a contract while in one already and," he paused, flicking his now dark hair out of his purple pentagram-stamped eye, "I think we both know very well that ours is still intact."

The German man's demeanor changed instantly - it was as if someone had flipped a switch. He stood up straight, throwing his gun to the ground. The emerald eyes revealed the hidden flickers of red ingrained into the radiant irises. His skin paled significantly, the freckles surrounding his button nose, which elongated, disappearing. An ungloved hand found its way onto the man's heart:

"Yes, my lord. I was rather under the impression that you have set me free, though," he said, that voice sending shivers down Ciel's spine, making him cringe. Ciel Phantomhive had never been seen shivering of fear… or was it excitement? Neither would Ciel the demon ever be. He planted his feet firmly onto the ground and took in the sight of his once faithful servant. He could not say that the years had been kind of Sebastian - the years had no affect on either of them, what with their shape-shifting abilities allowing them to be anyone, anytime. Yes, he had _technically _freed Sebastian, sending him on his merry way that night so… was it long ago? … or was it _just _recently? He couldn't say. There was nothing Ciel was aware of more at the moment than the fact that his chest ached with the worst pain imaginable as he looked at the older demon's handsome face. Still as breathtaking as ever even though there was no breath to take.

"I have set you free, Seb-, I don't suppose you go by your old name," Ciel said faintly. "Why are you here, of all place?"

"Probably for the same reason as yourself, my Lord. Entertainment. Human beings can be quite interesting. Of course, none as interesting as a certain young earl I once knew, so many years ago." Sebastian stopped for a moment, looking at his young master. He was still young. He was still beautiful. The boy had chosen a slightly older version of his human self - not a bad choice, as well. Ciel knew quite well that he was good-looking and why not use his appearance for personal gain? "My name is still Sebastian, my Lord, because-,"

"_Stop it! _I told you to leave and you did. There is no reason to pretend you are in my service," Ciel snapped shakily, watching the other demon's features flicker out like a lamp for a moment before smoothing into a perfectly still mask of poise.

"I cannot. Not all of us are as lucky as you are - you may be tied to me but as the _customer _of my services you have all the freedom in the world to contract to somebody else. I, on the other hand, have found it troublesome."

"Tshe. Stop whining."

"Yes, my Lord." Ciel didn't know what he wanted: run, cry, beat Sebastian's smirk off that beautiful face or… tell him to come back? No. He would not betray his own words. Sebastian had to want to come back to him. Otherwise, he was on his on.

"I must be going then," Ciel whispered, feeling his eyes tingle with that irritating feeling of _tears but no tears_.

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, watching his master with an unreadable expression. The wind carried a final 'goodbye' to his ears and before he could understand what was happening, Ciel had disappeared. The demon shook his head sadly and turned away from the woods, where, if one listened closely enough, one would be able to hear the cries of a wounded animal.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Author's Notes:_**_I know this one is a bit shorter, but I had a desire to post and here we are :) Merry Christmas to everyone. For the record, "Krähe" means "crow" and "Himmel" means "sky" ("Ciel" hah). Whatever. Please review! ;)_

Night was slowly falling on the drowsy camp at the foot of the hill. Sebastian could smell the blood oozing out of the wounds of the injured, the stale porridge cooking over the fire in the compound, the horrible stench of death evaporating into the sky from the long brick chimneys protruding from one of the bigger buildings below. He had always loved the smell of death but this… Seemed a bit too much. There can never be too much for someone like you, he liked to remind himself but as he watched hundreds, thousands of small, helpless, insignificant, week people being led through the door of death, something made him think twice. It was such a time for all - reflecting upon oneself was common among everyone, it seemed. Even the Death Gods were more subdued around the area, reaping the souls needed, cringing silently at the amount of work they were forced to do. All because of one person. One great man. Terrible, selfish, insane. But so great. Sebastian closed his eyes and inhaled the putrid smell once more, listening intently to the screams of those beneath the hill. That had been the last batch of the evening. Soon, his presence would be required around the camp. Paperwork. Duty. Those things meant nothing to him, not really. He was not bound to anyone. This was all simply a matter to occupy his time.

It had been several years since he'd encountered his Young Master on the battlefield in France. He had stood, motionless, as the boy had run with inhuman speed towards the edge of the forest, he had heard him cry out in anguish among the dark trees. He hadn't done anything, though. He had been ordered not to. Unfortunately, he had not been ordered not to care. It was almost comical, how much one puny human being had affected his life - existence was probably a better word - and how he had never stopped to think how deep a ripple he had caused.

Sighing, Sebastian leapt off the hill, his hands clasped behind his back. He landed at the entrance of the camp, brushing off his black uniform, so unlike the fine woolen one he had been forced into as a Phantomhive butler. This suit was coarse, rough, though only upon close inspection. From even a foot away, it looked flawless, right, strict. As it was supposed to do. Making his way towards the gate, he clicked his heels together when the two guardsmen came into view and raised his hand in a salute:

"Heil Hitler!"

"Standartenführer Krähe," came the answer from one of the men. Sebastian nodded to both of them fromally and went through the gate, the hinges, rusty with human blood, creaking as it closed behind him.

THIS IS A PAGE BREAK. YAY FOR KUROSHITSUJI. SEBAS-CHAN AS AN SS OFICER? OH MY.

"We should be moving the camp westward, the Soviet army is at our door and-,"

"No. The west is far more capable of destroying us and-,"

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, one hand propped under his chin as he watched several grown men banter about trivial matters. Like who would survive and who would not. He had thought of stifling a yawn for show to tell the officers just how bored he was but after all, he was not head of this so-called committee. The head was just as engaged in the quarrel as his underlings, spewing spit over official papers, his eyes gleaming with resentment.

It was a beautiful night and he would be damned if he could not get a glimpse at the pale moon that adorned the sky above the death camp, much like it had when he had entered into his contract with him, much like the one that had sealed his fate when Alois had ordered Hannah to take his little master away from him forever. Just for the sake of demonic nostalgia, he would sit on the topmost branch of his favorite tree and gaze up the traitorous moon, its pale face reminding him of one other face he missed sorely.

"There have been no orders from our superiors," Sebastian said quietly, his blue eyes gleaming with malice. It had been a pain getting into the SS with looks such as his and a change of appearance had to transpire. It hurt to look at the azure eyes that stared at him from every reflective surface as his subconscious had betrayed him and chosen that particular shade of blue. Like the sea. No, bluer. "So what you are discussing right now is… worthless."

"Worthless?" The higher ranking officer spat, giving Sebastian a contemptuous look. No, that look could not hold a candle to his little master's, the true master of facial expressions that alone could tell you all the child thought of you. "This is important! I shall write to the Führer if I have to but the camp needs to be moved!"

"The Führer," Sebastian began, almost tempted enough to grin widely, "is occupied with more important matters. What you and your colleagues are talking about right now is empty words. As the armies approach, will shall still have the time to move out if we need to. There are more pressing things to discuss but as I can see, the five of you have no desire to do actual work, so I might as well retire for the night. Sleep well, all of you." As if you could, you murderous dogs.

"Fritz Krähe, you will stay as is your duty and-,"

"Meine Herren, my only duty is to myself right now. And it is screaming for sleep."

"Are you disobeying direct orders from your superior?"

"No. I am disobeying direct orders from an idiot. Good night."

PAGE BREAK ROGUE SS OFFICER SEBAS-CHAN? WHY NOT?

"Hello, moon. You were probably wondering when I would show up," Sebastian greeted the nightly orb with a smile and a bow. Breathing in the now clearer air, he leaned against the trunk of his tree and raised his head to look at his only companion. The past few decades had been filled with loneliness for him, fully justified, of course, as he had been abandoned by his master. The little lord had probably thought it had been for the best as he had bade his last goodbye in the forest so few and yet so many years ago. That night had turned Sebastian's life around yet again: was he to stay or go, as his little master had wished? He had gone away, sometimes watching from afar as the little robin turned into a teenaged eagle, spreading his wings gingerly and fighting the difficulties of his demonic life. As horrible as having been imprisoned, tied to one person, demon, for the rest of his life was, Sebastian couldn't help but feel a tingle of pride as he thought of the last kill he had seen Ciel do: that French officer back in the days of the first war. It had been clean, accurate, passionless, an ideal murder for a demon. He was proud of his little master.

"I believe we haven't talked since about a week ago, dear moon. Well, it is my regret to inform you nothing exciting has been happening around here. Vile human beings burning others to death. Vile officers having vile discussions over menial things. Nothing else. I sometimes wish, I, as a demon, could have the power to travel through time. Just to skip these years here. Although…" Sebastian let out a small chuckle: "Even if I did possess such a power, I doubt I would use it. It is my wish to catch the Young Master for a while, just to see his for a split-second. That would be more than enough for someone like me."

He remembered how much his little master had loved the moon. The pale light waxed and waned and the boy had used to stare out his window for hours, just watching the silvery disk gleam.

_"Sebastian?"_

_"Yes, Young Master?"_

_"Why is the moon so pale?"_

_"You see, it does not shine by itself, Young Master. It reflects the light of the sun which is on the opposite side of our world right now."_

_"You mean our world, Sebastian. Not yours."_

_"Of course, my Lord."_

_"Does your world have a moon?"_

_"No. Neither do we have a sun."_

_"What lights up the place where you live?"_

_"The glimmering of the thousand and thousands of souls."_

_"You disgust me."_

He hopped off the branch, landing neatly onto two feet only to come face to face with the commander:

"What have you been doing up there, Krähe?"

"Watching the moon."

"Is that so?"

PAGE BREAK THIS WAS NECESSARY DON'T ASK ME

"So, Standartenführer Krähe, would you care to explain to this room why your commander has found you outside of the camp you have been assigned to, at night, gazing at the moon? One would think you were doing… work for our opponents, so chose your words wisely." The officer pulled Sebastian by his arm into a stuffy conference room, forcing him to sit in one of the hard-backed chairs. A bright light shone right into his eyes, making him cringe for show, as his irises never contracted of natural causes in his human form. Amused, he took in his surroundings and then stopped short.

A small figure was sprawled over a fat Standartenführer's knees, its arms around his shoulders in a tantalizing gesture. The form was wearing an SS uniform, its cap tilted slightly to the side and its legs enveloped in shorts instead of pants. It was a boy, hardly fifteen of age, it seemed, a beautiful dark blue sheen to his hair and a stunning blue eyes glimpsing from under a long slate-colored fringe. The other eye was covered by a patch.

Ciel.

"Please refrain from staring at officer Himmel. I'm afraid he is very shy of his deformity."

"Deformity?"

"An Englishman. Out on the front line. Shot me right in the eye." Officer Himmel slipped off his master's knees and strode towards Sebastian, a hard look on his face. He wanted to sigh - the boy's façade was fascinating but for a split second he was able to see the recognition there. The longing. "But you already know that, don't you, Krähe?" He turned to the others in the room and pointed an accusing finger at Sebastian: "I know for a fact that this man is a British spy."

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS IS GOING

"Shot you, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes, Young Master."

"I told you to call me-,"

"Ciel. I know."

"Tche."

"I better be off, you told me to leave once. I have to follow that order."

"Sebastian-,"

"Ciel?"

"Nothing. Leave."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** _Thank you for all your review, dear readers, and a very belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone who is reading. I know I haven't written anything in over a month and I am sincerely sorry for it - life got in the way, and by life I mean the countless parties I've been invited too and have passed out at in a pile of writhing bodies. Only joking, I was at home, eating chocolates and being too lazy of an ass to start typing anything. _

_All the historical figures here are accurate and have existed - well, except for the obvious. _

_The Russian translations of names are accurate - the reason being, Russian is my mother tongue. The Japanese may be off. Thank you, Google. _

_I still do not own. _

Papers, papers, more papers to deal with. It would have been comical if it hadn't been so terrible - after an exciting life as a powerful demon, he had been reduced to sorting through documentation and slapping wet stamps of approval or lack thereof into the designated boxes. A _secretary_! Not that he could complain, being bound by a contract and all, but why on earth would a fearless (not so much at night, he had discovered) country leader sell his soul for a _secretary_? After learning the ropes around the place, _Ciel_ had realized secretaries were everything, the very pillars of power. After all, the leader himself was a secretary. General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist party of the Union of the Socialist Soviet Republics, Nikita Khrushchev, quite a mouthful. The man himself was hard enough to stomach, as befitting of his extensive title: harsh, capricious, difficult to deal with after a few drinks, impossible to deal with when sober. Of course, the public only knew the father of all Soviet nations, the savior, the one to right all of Stalin's wrongs. Ivan Nebesniy knew him as a very delicious meal to come.

"Vanya! Have you cancelled the committee meeting for three-thirty?" The hoarse voice called from the adjacent office, nearly making Ivan jump. Nearly.

"Yes!" Ivan called back, rolling his eyes at the horrible diminutive his chosen named had taken on. Honestly, for that only, he would miss Victorian Britain. Where have all the poised, beautiful names gone? _Vanya_, indeed. "I cannot cancel the paper revision this evening, though, Comrade Khrushchev!"

A sigh could be heard, followed by a pop as the man stretched his joints in his office, clearly taking a walk around the vast space. The revisions were tiring, but it had been the General Secretary's project to gain the people's trust to review every single file of every single prisoner and victim of Stalin's repressions. A noble piece of work, giving Vanya a noble headache.

"Can you start without me? Comrade Grellev should be here in half an hour, shouldn't he?" Khrushchev called back with another groan and a tell-tale squeak of the plush chair he occupied in his office.

Ivan sniffed, almost offended. Comrade Grellev. Another annoyance on his way to his meal, nothing more. Nothing more.

PAGE BREAK OH CIEL WORKING FOR THE SOVIET GOVERNMENT HOW QUAINT

"Oh, _Vanyechka_, how lovely to see you this fine dreary Moscow morning," a voice drawled from the doorway, making Ivan huff in irritation over another stack of documents. The person sitting in front of him twisted around with wide eyes to see the newcomer, only to gape at the sigh of him. In time of grey and black, when everybody acted the same, talked the same, wore the same, the figure that has just crossed the threshold was a sight to behold: clad in a floor-length red coat with lacquered boots the color of pomegranate, was a red-headed man with a smile the size, it seemed, of the Union itself. A sheepskin hat sat perched crookedly on his head with a big red and gold star pinned to the front in a coquettish manner, its five points gleaming in the lamp's dim light.

"Grellev," Ivan greeted tersely, watching he man disapprovingly. Honestly, couldn't he be a bit more conspicuous about his appearance? In a country where you could get arrested for breathing offensively about the Party, the man managed to get away with almost anything - including, but not limited to, murder. "Try not to make more a fool out of yourself while you're getting your lazy ass behind that desk over there," he pointed to the farthermost desk in the darkest corner of the vast somber room, "and listening to the fascinating story of our guest here, a Comrade _Ilyashov_, I believe, who has been working in the Gulag for the past nine years."

"Ciel, oops, sorry, I meant _Comrade Nebesniy_, how boring you are. How strict. Almost as much as-,"

"Stop right there. You are forgetting that I now have just as much power as _him_, and I, unlike_ that_ genteel person, am quite ready to use it against the likes of you," Vanya interrupted, pain stabbing at his heart as he said the words. Years of not seeing _him_ had not been good to the young demon, every sleepless night reminding him of _his_ absence. Sebastian had not been seen or heard of after that chance meeting during the Second World War when they had ended up at the opposite sides of the barricade. Technically, they were on the same side but hey, _Ciel_ had needed an excuse to upper himself on the force and Sebastian fit the role of a British spy perfectly. The humans had not been kind to the man - _Ciel_ still heard the whip and the whizzing bullets at night when the moon glimmered at him mockingly from the heavens.

"Oh, poor dear. I could, purely theoretically, go into a long speech about your misgivings and _his_ tragic fate..." Grellev began, but stopped short upon seeing Ivan's face, which screamed murder. "But I am not that cruel. Let's see what this... Ilyashov, is it? has done wrong." Skimming over the pages, he grinned up at the terrified man sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the middle of the hall.

"Put him back. There's enough proof, isn't there?"

With a sigh, Vanya stabbed the stamp into the document, a huge _RELEASE APPROVED_ stretched across the thin paper. Grellev huffed in indignation, muttering something about 'cheeky demonic brats'.

As the day came closer to nightfall, Ivan cursed his inability to get tired. If he had been human, he would have already collapsed onto the desk of exhaustion. Scratch that, if he had been human, he would have already been dead for the last century and and then some. Nevertheless, this twenty-year-old body belonging to a recent graduate of the Kiev University, blue-eyed and dark-haired as ever (he had learnt some time ago that minimizing the change in his primary appearance for contracts actually staved off the hunger for a while longer), did not tire, did not require sleep and was bound to the most influential person in the country.

Grellev sat at his desk, issuing imprisonment and freedom orders at random, watching Vanya out of the corner of his eye. Why the blasted Death God had suddenly decided to turn up and amuse himself by playing human, Vanya did not know. The idiot had actually revealed to the General Secretary that he was a Reaper, promptly earning himself a position in the Headquarters. Khrushchev was a smart man in some ways and a complete fool in others, blinded by his greed and somewhat stifled sense of do-goodery. It was amazing how many egomaniacs walked the Earth, and it seemed _Ciel_ was a magnet for at least half of them. After the German officer came the Chinese general of some kind - he hadn't lasted long, courtesy of a bullet lodged so tight in the bones of his skull, he still lay underneath the ground with it - and afterwards came the American senator. How he had ended up in the service of a Soviet leader, Vanya didn't know but he was thankful for a meal and a roof over his head. Hell had been depressing enough the one time he had decided to see for himself why _he_ had been so eager to escape it: bones, bodies, demons leading decadent ways of existence, eating everything and anything that came their way, getting into drunken brawls and wasting away their immortality.

Grellev arrived out of nowhere, making Vanya's life more eventful, that much was sure. He was a horrible_ person_ to deal with but at least he was there when nobody else paid Ivan any mind. It seemed even the people in the government building were cautious about him, sneaking around and not inviting him for any casual get-together they might have planned. Used to being the center of attention and never really having gotten over that little human quirk, Vanya found himself irritated more often than not. Now, at least, he was able to take it out on Grellev, who sat at his desk, smirking into the distance.

"Oi, what do you think you're doing, slacking off?" Vanya called to him as yet another repression victim slid out of the room, a letter of approval clutched tightly in her hand. Honestly. There was another party meeting coming up the next day not to mention the questionable dinner that would take place tonight. He _hated_ the Party. It wasn't as much as the people - some of them were alright to deal with - but the ideology: one cannot be rich. Sharing is caring. If something like this had emerged back in his earl days, he would have been furious and probably would have told _him_ to tear the author of said theory limb from limb. He had worked hard for that money and having his title and riches stripped off him... No. That would have not happened to him, back in those days royalty was all the people had to believe in. Now they had parties and wars and satan knows what else.

"Not slacking off, Ivanushka dear, just taking my sweet time," replied the red-haired Death god and flashed him another sickening grin. "Are you looking forward to the party party, heh, tonight?"

"You are well aware of the fact that such events would bore me to tears if I had the ability to cry. You, on the other hand, are no doubt fantasizing about finding your dream man on the dance-floor, are you not?"

"My, can't get anything past you, dear Vanya. You've become almost as good as..." Grellev trailed off, tapping a finger on his chin. No need to upset the demon. Over the past few decades he had found out, watching from afar, that _Ciel former Phantomhive_ could turn into a vicious little bugger at the drop of a hat. And Grellev was quite fond of his hat, thank you very much. "But yes, I am dreaming that my black-clad prince will come and rescue me from the mundane glum my life was turned into by you."

"Tche, I never asked you to come and pester me for the best part of my life here. You did all that on your own. _Why_ did you come, anyway? I thought William has already forgotten all of your past indiscretions and granted you a stay in the Death God quarters _yet again_," Ivan replied tersely, watching Grellev. Back when he had been Ciel, watching the red-head getting beat up with his own scythe and dragged off to who knows where had been one of the highlights of his sometimes boring aristocratic evenings. Now, William T. Spears was nowhere to be seen.

"Last time I heard, he was working undercover for the American government. Something about the Soviet plans for Germany with some foul play with a thousand lost souls. Hell if I know," said Grellev, pulling out a small mirror in a wooden frame and admiring himself in it, puckering his lips and giving himself winks. Rolling his eyes, Vanya carried on slapping the stamp onto the documents, secretly hoping his arm would start hurting from the repeated motion. It never did.

WONDERFUL DEVELOPMENTS, EH?

"Tell me again, comrade Grellev, why am I supposed to be around at such boring functions?" _Ciel_ asked the red-head tersely, holding a glass of red wine - the closest thing he could get to blood - and wearing a frown. "Even the balls at the palace back in my youth were quite a bit more entertaining."

"Ivanushka, your _Ciel_ is showing," Grellev replied, sipping on some fruity concoction only the highest of the Oarty could get their hands on. The irony of the situation was appalling - people outside the walls of the Kremlin had to share, even out, _merge and blend_, while the self-righteous nomenclature of the Party twirled small wooden umbrellas recently imported from the US and poured French wines down their throats. It wasn't right, _Ciel_ knew, and yet there he was. Charity? He had once been good at that but here, as Ivan Nebesniy, he had to maintain a cool attitude.

"Vanya, Grellev." The General Secretary nodded in recognition as he approached them, a flute of something green secured between his meaty fingers. "I trust everything is in order."

_This is a cocktail party, General Secretary, not a bloody war zone,_ _Ciel_ wanted to his but instead smoothes his features into a smile and nodded thoughtfully to the man, his façade as Vanya back in place:

"All is well, General Secretary. Quite well, in fact, and I am surprised. No offense to anyone in the room but you human beings are so apt at messing things up and here you are, finally accomplishing preparations on time and quite thoroughly. I presume we are having guests, then, Comrade Khrushchev, _foreign_ guests," he stated with a gentle smile. He _hated_ foreign guests, they reminded him too much of his adventures all over the globe, trying to forget _him_.

"You presume correctly, Vanya," Khrushchev answered, taking a swig of his drink. He didn't notice the fleeting look of disgust Ciel gave him. Honestly, could the man be a bit more discreet with his habit? He was, after all, the most influential man in the country, the _only_ man in the country, as far as the General Secretary himself was concerned, the only person on the whole of the USSR who had the right to start a war with the 'capitalist world' legally and within his right, the only person who could either save a whole nation from starvation by means of his own cunning plan of utilizing all that spare land in the east or lead millions of women and children to their deaths, and yet here he was, wearing a fine suit no doubt made by some non-Soviet citizen pouring foreign spirits down his throat, and hosting dinner parties for -,

"The Japanese prime-minister has arrived, General Secretary," Ciel quipped loftily, sniffing at the air in disgruntlement. The man had clearly brought with him another evil spirit not unlike himself - the air held the stench of death and decadence, reeking of destruction and horridities only something so _ancient_ could have seen, and yet - an underlying scent of white roses, just like the ones Earl Phantomhive had once owned, just like the ones that had stood, flickering their achromatic petticoats in the wind, just like the ones that _he_ had used to cut tenderly a whole bunch of every morning, even during the winter frost, and place on the breakfast table in front of the little earl. The smell wafted into his memory-ridden mind through his nostrils and suddenly Ivan Nebesniy found himself sighing and turning rapidly into the small child that had used to hide a pistol under his pillow and wait for a certain someone to show up whenever something was bound to happen.

"Accurate, as usual, my dear Vanya," Khrushchev laughed hoarsely and gestured 'open' to the two suited men at the door who scrambled to draw it open from both sides, providing a quite impressionable parody of a grand entrance.

"Ah, welcome, welcome, my dear..." Khrushchev trailed off for a millisecond, and Ivan whispered '_Ichiro Hatoyama_' hurriedly into the General Secretary's ear. How did he know the name of the current prime-minister of Japan? He did not know, he thought to himself sullenly. The job seemed a very fleeting one - no prime-minister hung on for more than a year in the last decade and he barely had the patience to keep an eye on today's politics.

As the General Secretary walked forward, his arms open wide, to the small conservative man in funny glasses, Vanya slid soundlessly behind him, leaving a disinterested Grellev at the buffet table, sucking on a marinated cherry. He was to serve as translator between the two men, as was his job with every foreign guest in the Union. As a demon, he did not care what language to speak - he could do any flawlessly, something that came with the job. As Hatoyama bowed his head to Khrushchev, Vanya chanced a glance at the man standing behind the most powerful person in Japan.

"_You..._" He breathed out in shock, his eyes widening just a fraction for a split-second before his features were once again schooled into a mask of indifferent politeness. Of course, how could he have thought the demon would not end up in the same room as him for the first time in, what was it, a decade and then some. His chest constricting painfully, _Ciel_ proceeded to translate the pleasantries exchanged between the two men while keeping his eyes averted from the man standing quietly behind the prime-minister. He could hear the soft whimpers that Grellev was letting out a few feet away from them and he was suddenly aware of how much _he wanted to whimper himself_.

The years would have been kind to the man were he susceptible to their influence - longish jet-black hair was tied back in a traditional Japanese hairstyle with a black velvet ribbon securing it, the red eyes were framed by sooty eyelashes that fell onto alabaster skin. The man's clothing was conservative - a simple suit so like Ivan's own, just a splash of color in the form of a _white rose_ in his front pocket. Nearly choking on his own words, _Ciel_ attempted to get back into character as a small smile sneaked its way onto Sebastian Michaelis' beautiful thin lips.

As they sat down at the table, Khrushchev showed Hatoyama the new draft of the agreement between the Union and the State of Japan, gesturing wildly with his fingers and clearly making the latter man uncomfortable, probably unused to such displays of emotion. _Of course,_ Ciel thought bitterly, _with him as a personal assistant._ Sneaking another glance at the man inconveniently seated right across from him, he shifted in his seat when he felt Grellev's talons dig into the skin of his forearm which rested in his lap. At least he wasn't the only one being affected by _his_ sudden appearance in the Kremlin.

"So, mister... Nebesniy, is it? How are you doing this fine evening?" _He_ asked amiably, giving _Ciel_ a smirk so reminiscent of the one he had used to wear back in the days when the earl had been just that - an earl, not a demon. Struggling to keep his composure, the young man replied with a polite grin and a sip of blood-red wine from the fine crystal glass that had been placed before him:

"Ivan, please. I must say this is a wonderful evening to consider international affairs," he replied stiffly, nudging Grellev harshly under the stable so the Death God would stop digging his fingers into his flesh. Honestly. "I am afraid I did not catch your name."

"My apologies. Kuroi Karasu, secretary to the prime-minister," the man said in the same calm friendly voice, underneath which Ciel searched for some kind of recognition. _Black crow_, is it? Interesting touch. "Nebesniy? I have not been studying Russian as well as I should have been, but does that not have something to do with the sky?"

_Nebesniy. Nebo. The sky. Ciel._

"Quite correct." The young assistant nodded and drew another gulp of the wine. He would have to drink at least a few liters to get through the evening. Too bad alcohol had no effect on him. "Your Japanese names fascinate me, I cannot think of anything more fitting for yourself than a black crow, if I may say so."

_Probably because you picked the name to irritate me._

It was going to be a very long evening.

JAPANESE AND SOVIET. WOW, DAPH, YOU NEED HELP.

"What the hell are you doing here, you-you-you... _demon?_" Ciel bit out, slamming the taller man into the door of the room he was supposed to put him up in. Sebastian only looked at him, his expression as blank as it had been the day they bade goodbye in the woods by the lake, back when everything had been so simple for both of them.

"Young Master-,"

"I told you _not_ to call me that. I am no longer your master, _demon_, and I suggest you stop this foolishness," Ciel said angrily, taking a step back as the man in front of him leaned forward. Physicality was still a bit of a problem with him, even after all these years. Of course, being a demon to do someone else's bidding had required him to get his hand and numerous body parts dirty but _he_ was different and Ciel had no idea why.

"You are my Master, although not very Young anymore, for as long as this remains on my hand," Sebastian replied quietly, lifting his hand which had been uncovered and staring at Ciel the whole evening, making him remember things he had rather not known to happen at all.

"I set you free."

"Then why can I not switch my appearance?"

"Because you are _weak and stupid and arrogant and_..." Ciel's body shook visibly as he hid his face in his hands, trying to keep in all that which had had him bursting at the seams for years now. "I told you to go and you went. If that is not a void contract, I don't know what is."

"I am nothing of the sort. Well, perhaps a bit arrogant sometimes, yes, but _never_ weak and _never_ stupid. You should know, Master, you have seen me do-,"

"_Yes! I have!_ I have seen you do terrible things to terrible people and wonderful things to people that never deserved your touch-," Flushing, Ciel clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he had just said. _Oh, hell._

A smirk snaked its way onto the other demon's face:

"And who, do you think, would deserve it, Master?"

"You know the answer yourself, _demon_."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"How about a chocolate cake in exchange?"

"You know quite well I cannot stomach human food."

"You can pretend. You have gotten quite good at it."

"Fine."


End file.
